


Cinderella

by wakanda_4evr



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakanda_4evr/pseuds/wakanda_4evr
Summary: T’Challa is still a prince, visiting America with his father. He meets a woman at a bar, but loses her once the clock strikes twelve. Will they meet again?





	1. 1

Red wine, dim lights, and Brian McKnight.

At least there was one spot in town that was doing something right.

The rest were typically packed like sardines with unsavory men and second-rate liquor, both of which left a bitter taste in your mouth. This crowd though, was grown and sexy. Little black dresses swayed side-to-side and brown leather oxfords shuffled across the dancefloor. Nobody was standing on the wall tonight, not even for the slow songs.

That being said, you welcomed the change of pace when the DJ switched the tune from Back at One to that timeless Vandross Bad Boy. Uncle Luther was about to come through. You were tired of rocking back and forth. You wanted to sweat a little.

“Well, alright ♪… Aw, yeah ♪…”

As soon as you heard the cymbals, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Ooo, this is my song!” you threw your head back and cheesed, and in an act of spontaneity brought on by the music, you bent down to take off your heels. You figured you would need your entire sole for this one. “Hold these for me,” you said to the man you’d been dancing with previously, “and don’t lose ‘em.”

“I won’t Miss Lady,” he chuckled as he watched you tiptoe away toward the speakers. You wanted to feel the rhythm vibrating throughout your entire body while you danced to this one. It was something spiritual.

“Roll back the rug everybody ♪… Move all the tables and chairs ♪… We’re gonna have us a good time tonight ♪…”

“Mm,” you sounded as you felt the lyrics, swinging your hips and twirling yourself around. Everyone was watching you, whooping and hollering and loving your energy.

“Go ‘head now girl!” an older woman shouted.

You laughed in the midst of all the attention, the sheer red skirt of your dress carouselling around your mid-thigh as you let the music take you wherever it pleased. You only stopped to catch your breath once the chorus hit, the instruments quieting and crisp snaps taking place of the drums to keep the tempo.

“Bad boy ♪… He’s gonna sneak out tonight ♪… He’s gonna tip by her window ♪… ‘Cause he sure wants to get out and dance ♪…”

While you took your short break you decided that the moment you were having was too special not to share. You needed somebody to dance with you. To spin you and dip you and laugh at how fun much you were having. You looked around the room and there were men all around who clearly wanted to join you. They eyed you with anticipation, waiting to be chosen by the lady in crimson. You frowned at them all.

Too old. Too short. Too taken. Too drunk.

Oh, well.

You shrugged, about to give up on finding the perfect dance partner, but that’s when someone caught your eye. You almost missed him, his quiet calm disguising him well in the midst of the madness, but you were so glad you didn’t.

A brown-skinned bachelor, alone at the bar. Just the right age, just the right height, just tipsy enough to be watching you with such unapologetic intensity that it made you feel bare.

Your lips parted at the sight of him there, not looking away from you despite you having noticed his stare.

It suddenly felt like a game of chess.

Your move.

Swallowing away any hesitation, you scurried toward him with your arm extended out front, inviting him to take hold. When you stopped two feet away from his stool, he set his glass down and moved his eyes to drink you in instead.

Patiently, you let yourself linger under his tingle-inducing gaze, but then the drums started up again and you didn’t want to miss a second more of your favorite song.

“Are you gonna dance with me, or does that liquor have your tongue and your feet?”

The man chuckled and it sounded smooth as a chocolate fountain. Fitting, given your dress was the color of sweet summer strawberries. Now you just needed to dip yourself inside and be covered in his silky brown satisfaction.

“I would love to dance with you, mhle,” he answered in an accent dripped in jewels from the Motherland. His voice made your heart skip a beat but the soft press of his lips against your hand made it stop altogether. You were frozen for a moment, the whole second verse passing you by. This time it was he who had to bring you back.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” He got up from his stool and closed the space between you two. You looked up at him and saw he had more inches on you than you’d previously thought. You didn’t think about it too long though, because you became conscious of the music again and realized you were missing the best part.

“Nah, I haven’t.” You began pulling him back toward the speakers. “Come on let’s go.”

“Everybody’s swingin’ ♪… Dancin’ to the music ♪… On the radio ♪…”

Once again, all eyes were on you, and now your partner too. Even the men disappointed at not being chosen couldn’t tear their eyes away. They imagined it was their crotch you grinded your ass against and them who held you by your waist as you moved your hips in circles.

You were having the time of your life, lost in the music and this kind stranger’s touch. When he dipped you horizontally across his strong arm, he let the back of his hand glide slowly across your hot cheeks, over your rising and falling chest, and down your butterfly-filled stomach before grabbing your waist and bringing you back up again.

He was suave and you were breathless as you wrapped your arms around his neck to find your balance.

“Relax, I won’t let you fall,” he said in a voice you would trust if not for the fact that you had already fallen.

Who was this man?

The music slowly faded and the whole bar cheered like it was the end of a night show.

The stranger still holding you close to his chest grinned and looked around.

“I am not the only one enchanted by you tonight,” he commented casually, gesturing toward all of the people still clapping. You weren’t sure why, but all of the eyes on you suddenly became a source of strong embarrassment. Dancing with him had felt like making love and they had just watched it all go down.

You released yourself from his arms and found yourself looking down at your wiggling toes, the white polish contrasting heavily against your brown skin. You weren’t sure what to do now. For the first time that night, you no longer felt like dancing.

With intuition of the natural sort, he noticed your energy shift and swooped in with a suggestion. “I could buy you another drink,” he offered, sensing your discomfort. “I’d rather not be made a spectacle myself.”

You loved how he understood without you having to say a word. 

You were just about to accept his offer, but then the DJ made an announcement.

“Alright, I’m glad y’all liked that one. Now we’re gonna break it down with our midnight jam, Whodini, The Freaks Come Out At Night. I wanna see y’all all get down and funky!”

Your eyes widened.

“What?” the gentleman asked, “Did you want to get down and funky?”

You could have laughed at the phrase ‘down and funky’ juxtaposed with the seriousness of his tone had it not been for the panic that had taken over your current state.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” you told your friend who was now new and old all at once.

You really hadn’t meant to stay out so late. The bar was close to your apartment so you figured you’d stop by for a little while, just to get your mind off some things. You had work at 5 a.m. and you promised your sister you’d be home at midnight to let her inside since she’d lost her keys.

In front of you, the man furrowed his brow as he mirrored your head movements, trying to make eye contact as you looked around for the guy you’d given your shoes to earlier. 

“You must go? Did I do something wrong?”

You groaned, realizing that the man had left with your damn shoes. You didn’t have time to track him down. You had to go home now. Without even saying goodbye, you pushed past the gentleman you’d just met and started for the door.

“No farewell?” he called out to you. Then, with a hint of desperation, “I don’t even know your name.”

You stopped right before you got to the exit, debating whether or not you should answer him. 

What could it hurt?

Finally, you turned around to look him in his eyes on last time.

“My name is Y/N.”

He smiled his honey smile. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

You’d never heard your name uttered so beautifully.

Still, the moment was bittersweet. It didn’t matter that you’d told him. This was the first time you’d ever seen him and you were sure it would be the last. How you felt about that, you weren’t so positive on. But you didn’t have time to meditate on it. It was past twelve. You had to go.

“Y/N,” he’d repeated to himself as he watched you turn the corner, the back of your dress trailing behind like the free-flowing tail of mermaid. He promised himself he wouldn’t forget that name.

He looked around and suddenly the place he was in felt a lot less interesting. None of the other girls were as pretty as you. None of them as delightful. There was no more excitement for him left there. So he ordered one more drink, finished it in five, then headed back to his hotel. 

He crept to his room slowly, careful not to wake his father who lied asleep in the suite attached to his. He thought about how that one he’d just shared with you was sure to be his first and last bit of fun for the rest of his stay in America.

Maybe, he thought, if he fell asleep, he could return to you in his dreams. He could see your smile, hear your laughter, and spin you crazy one last time.

The two of you had barely exchanged words, but the body language had been strong enough to create a connection. 

Even so, he still wished he’d talked more. A frown painted his face as he thought about how he’d been such an fool to ask for you name yet still neglect to give you his.

That night, he didn’t see you in his dreams because he tossed and turned until sunrise. Losing you at the bar was only an addition to the already heavy load of frustrations that prevented him from sleeping at night.

Before he knew it, he could hear his father stirring in the room next over. 

It was time to start the day. 

He dragged himself groggily to the bathroom to wash his face, but noticed first that there were no towels.

“Five stars, zero towels,” he grumbled to himself. The lack of sleep was already getting to him. 

With a sigh, he called for housekeeping and waited by the window for a set of cloths. Compared to back home, the sunrise before him seemed like an insult. He could hardly believe it was the same giant star being projected to everyone in the world. Maybe Wakanda was a different planet.

Five mintues later, there was a knock at the door.

“Housekeeping.”

He tore himself away from the window and went to collect what he needed to get ready before his father could begin to rush him. He kept the interaction short, giving a dismissive “thanks,” grabbing the towels, and closing the door as quick as he’d opened it.

His brain and his body were moving at two different paces. 

His brain recognized the face that’d handed him the towels. His brain knew he’d seen her just a few hours prior and hadn’t stopped thinking about her ever since. His brain knew that was her.

His body realized it too late.

A whole ten seconds later, he rushed backed to door and called out her name.

“Y/N?”

He looked down both of ends of the hall, but it was no use. He cursed himself because he’d let it happen again.

For the second time, she was gone.


	2. 2

“Was he fine, girl?”

“Sí, tell us!”

The ladies you worked with all crowded around you in the laundry room like fangirls at a One Direction meet and greet. The place you usually sought out for peace and quiet was now occupied fully by hounding women, thirsty for a description of the long whispered-about prince so that they could finally put a face to their fantasies - and you could have given it to them.

You could have told them how even at a glimpse at the crack of dawn, he still looked ethereal; crafted by divine fingertips on a different celestial body far away from this unworthy planet. You could have told them how his milky smooth timbre was heart-stopping, even when he muttered monosyllabic formalities like, “thanks.” How even princes went to sleep shirtless, and under royal garb lied lip-biting temptation in the form of abs whittled by the most skilled of carpenters.

You could have told them all of that.

Just like you could have told them that he was a damn good dancer. The best you’d ever had the pleasure of getting lost in a song with. You could have told them that because you’d danced with him last night and it was a feeling you would never forget.

But when he opened that door, it seemed as though the memory in his mind had already slipped behind.

Now disappointment settled where the butterflies had been, even after you’d tried reason with yourself that he’d had no reason to commit your face to memory.

Afterall, he was a prince as you now knew, and you were a just girl with whom he shared a single dance, one of many. 

Interrupting your thoughts, came a red-acrylic snap. 

“Hellooooo!”

It was Evette, your closest comrade within the staff, bringing you back to earth.

“Come on girl, tell us something!” she implored. “You’re the only one who gets to see him all up close and personal since the king don’t want everybody in business. So what’s he like?!”

What she said was true. Only one housekeeper was assigned to the floor of the king and his son, and that one had been you. At first you’d been a little excited yourself, but now you wanted nothing more than to hand the responsibility off to someone else. You couldn’t stand to see his face again, feeling everything from that night while he felt nothing but the need for more towels.

You were just going to say something to get them off your back. You opened your mouth to speak, and everyone leaned in with excitement. That’s exactly when one of the housekeeping receivers rang on the wall.

“Aye dios mios!” Rissa threw her hands up in exasperation then whizzed over to go and answer it. “Don’t you say a word without me!”

You rolled your eyes at how much of a big deal it was being made out to be while everyone else watched Rissa, waiting impatiently for her hang up the phone.

“Housekeeping,” she greeted. There was a pause, and then her eyes grew three sizes.

“Hurry up!” Evette hissed.

Rissa scowled at her then mouthed to room, “It’s the prince!”

A series of whispers and giggles followed and despite your not even meaning to, you perked up as well. The room was starting to get loud, so Rissa shushed everyone before going back to talking with the royal man of the hour.

“Sorry, your highness, what was that?… You need soap?… Oh, right away, sir… No, thank you!”

She hung up and then squealed at the top of her lungs. Now everyone was rushing her with questions - “What does he sound like?!” - and you were grateful for the diversion, but now you had to go back to his room for a second time.

Why didn’t he ask for his damn soap to begin with?

You were starting to think that maybe forgetful was just one of his personality traits.

Groaning, you grabbed a fresh bar of soap from one of the neglected carts, then dragged your feet out of the laundry room before anyone could notice you slip away. You told yourself you would make it quick; just hand him the soap and leave. You wouldn’t even look him in the face.

His smooth face. Brown and handsome. Breathtaking and beautiful.

Nope. You would just ignore it.

The elevator ride to the very top was a long one, but with few stops since it was still so early in the morning. As you waited, you examined yourself in the mirrors surrounding the lift and became self conscious.

Maybe he didn’t recognize your because you looked so… different.

Last night’s wild curls were now gelled back into the required work bun. Instead of a red dress and heels you now wore an unflattering housekeeping gown with third grade picture day stockings and all white tennis shoes. Without concealer covering up the dark circles under your eyes from late nights studying, working, and studying while working, you barely recognized yourself. Who was he to recognize you?

On the workout room floor, the elevator came to a halt. You tore your attention away from your reflection and on stepped a young woman clad in a green sports bra with matching spandex. Her brow was wrinkled with post-workout intensity as she dabbed her sweat away while somehow managing to still look put together.

You nodded toward her as the doors closed and the two of you began your ascension.

“Early morning workout?”

You typically weren’t one for small talk, but you right then needed a distraction.

The woman nodded, taking a swig from her water bottle, but she didn’t bother looking over at you.

Perhaps she wasn’t up for conversation.

You returned to checking yourself out in the mirror and felt relieved once you heard the ding! and watched the woman get off on the floor before yours.

Now you just had to get through the next awkward encounter.

The elevator started up again and the next ding fell in tandem with your nervous heartbeat.

Quick, you reminded yourself. Quick and painless. That’s all it would be.

You stepped out into the hall, working the soap bar back and forth between your two hands. The distance to his door seemed longer now for some reason.

You advanced slowly, the bright and busy pattern of the carpet triggering a slight headache. Still, walking slowly was no match for the inevitable, and once again you were face to face with the heavy hardwood door. This time though, you knew who was on the other side and that made all the difference.

You knocked softly.

Maybe he wouldn’t hear you and you could walk away saying that you tried…

All hope for that outcome was lost when you heard the clank of the door latch followed by the turn of the knob.

He opened up.

_Don’t look at his face._

You held out the soap.

_Just take it and go._

He stood there waiting.

_God, why isn’t he moving?_

He said your name.

“Y/N.”

Your breath hitched and you looked up hesitantly to see him smiling down. He’d put on a shirt but you didn’t need to see his body to feel absolutely seduced by the moment. All you needed was his face and his memory and the sound of him saying your name. The sound of him remembering.

You wanted to say his name too, just to see if it tasted as sweet as he made yours sound. Then maybe you two would have something else in common. Your mouth lingered open, searching for a whisper from a past life where you two already knew each other well. Nothing came to you and he could tell you were struggling so he supplied you with the flavor name you needed.

“T’Challa,” he told you.

“T’Challa,” you repeated.

T’Challa.

T’Challa tasted like honey. T’Challa tasted like a name you wanted a reason to say more often.

After names were out of the way, the two of you still had so much else to say.

“I-”

“You-”

You spoke over each other, laughed about it, then did it all over again. Conversation proved more cumbersome than cavorting, but neither of you minded it at all. It was just a new dance the two of you would have to learn together.

“You first,” he ushered finally.

Truthfully, you didn’t even know where to begin. So you settled with an awkward giggle and a, “Here’s your soap.”

You held it out and T’Challa grabbed it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, fearing you had already done something wrong. “Did you need a different one?”

“If I’m being honest with you,” he said sheepishly, “I didn’t need soap at all. I just wanted to see you again… to be sure it was you. Excuse me for not greeting you properly the first time. I didn’t get much sleep, so…”

He trailed off and you shrugged.

“It’s fine, I wouldn’t have recognized me either.” You crossed your arms, once again hyper-aware of your appearance. “I kind of look a mess.”

T’Challa shook his head, a look of genuine confusion puddled across his face.

“A mess? No, okuswiti kwam, you look-”

“T’Challa!”

You jumped at the sudden shout. Whoever just called your prince’s name did not think it tasted like honey.

T’Challa pushed the door in a little then looked over his shoulder.

His father had come over from his suite and he didn’t look happy.

“T’Challa, you hear me talking to you! You should be ready by now! We have meetings, unyana!”

T’Challa sighed. “I know Baba, I-”

“No buts! And why are you hanging around the door that way? Who is there? Is it Nakia?”

Nakia? he thought. She wasn’t even in America.

“Baba, no. It is just housekeeping.” He looked at your face after he said the words, hoping you understood how and why he couldn’t tell the whole truth.

You pursed your lips but said nothing.

“Well get what you need and shut the door so we can go,” T’Challa’s father boomed again.

He tried to say goodbye before he left; to leave you with a time and place to meet again - one that didn’t involve soap or towels.

He didn’t get a chance to.

His father, ever the most impatient, grabbed T’Challa by the arm, slammed the door, and left you standing stupidly on the other side.

You felt a lot of emotions as you stood there and you were filled with a lot more questions, but you didn’t mull over any of it.

You’d save all that for later because you were sure you’d see him again.

So you decided you would spend your time until then repeating the name, letting it roll around and melt on your tongue like a Hershey’s Kiss.

“T’Challa.”

You danced on your way to the elevator.


End file.
